Concussion
by Ziven
Summary: He is a hero. Just a different kind. -Minorshipping, Ryou x Otogi- for the YGO FF contest. Rated for language.


Ugh. Stayed up all night for this one, but I did get it done and hopefully it's accepted! For those of you unfamiliar with the YGO fanfiction contest, look us up in the forums! We're third from the top.

**Pairings:** Leaning towards _Minorshipping_. It's not fully there, but I may go back and add chapters to this later after the contest is over.

**Continuity:** It's always a mix with me. Always.

**Warnings:** None, really.

With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Darkness had always been comforting for Ryou, and he felt himself the only person able to truly understand its nature. Others feared that in it hid their nightmares and broken dreams, but he knew better. Complete, utter and true darkness held nothing in its grasp; and that was the very definition of serenity. Void of anything other than the self, Ryou knew most men couldn't stand up to themselves. Without distractions from their own guilt and regret, they would go mad. Many were scared of dying alone with only those two things to escort them to the afterlife.

Bakura had always threatened him with that lack of substance, and from the beginning it had been clear to him that no other person could have withstood that isolation.

In fact, Yuugi was his exact opposite. He could not move forward without his friends, without that motivation to drive him forward to save the day. That was exchange for not being at peace: Movement, development, force.

There was no reason for Ryou to lie to himself in his darkness. He wasn't meant to move forward. As Bakura had pointed out several times, he was merely the vessel. The Beholder.

When Bakura did terrible things, Ryou knew whose fault they were, and knew whose fault it would be perceived to be. That, unfortunately, didn't stop Bakura from trying to addle him with guilt. Ryou was not very often in control of his body, but he could take a look at what Bakura was doing when he wished.

Sometimes, Bakura forced him to watch.

Ryou could shape his darkness however he wished, too. More often than not, it took the shape of Amane. It had taken quite some time, but the twinge of sadness upon seeing her likeness was no longer noticeable. The two of them would play and, when Ryou had the strength, he would reshape himself and relive his favorite memories. They were fairly easy to choose from; there were very few moments of his life that he had truly enjoyed after her death.

Today, the two of them were chatting, and it was breaking his heart. Amane had broken from the script of his memory, asking about Ryou's friends and why she had never met them. Even as he answered, he felt foolish. Amane could never truly speak to him, not in his own head and not without help from the physical plane. She only reflected Ryou's own desires, to see her living and well enough to be protective of him. He was talking to himself, essentially, and that was mildly disconcerting.

That was _his _fear: that he would break before Bakura would set him free; that he wouldn't last the stint of his duty as the vessel.

So when his sister's visage began to blur, when the pressure of maintaining concentration became painful, Ryou let it go.

He was somewhere in Downtown Domino. His first instinct was to wriggle his fingers. Nothing happened.

The sky was dark, but the stars twinkled within the corner of his eyes - well, Bakura's eyes. Though he could tolerate being in darkness, the light was welcome, too. Cars rolling in the streets, headlights flickering, looked breathtaking to him.

Ryou hadn't seen real color in _weeks_.

His body lurched forward, and he tried to account for his surroundings. Muted bass poured through his ears. Although every building nearby seemed old and decrepit, nearly collapsing, they seemed to bursting with people and life. He stood in an alleyway,and without being able to look he could sense others standing near him.

If a disembodied conscience could sigh, he would have.

Bakura hunted for souls in these locations. Finding the worthless, sometimes the homeless - those who wouldn't be missed. Ryou felt a shiver of anticipation echo through Bakura's mind. Sometimes, the ripples reached him. Bakura was _hungry_.

Exiting the alleyway, he turned to rusty double doors on the left and ducked inside. Ryou cringed at the volume filling Bakura's ears, and had to remind himself to be on guard; their senses would be all mixed up so long as he was watching. Scouring the club, Bakura's eyes flit to various individuals.

Ryou tried to make it a game - who would Bakura pick? He wouldn't be able to stop it, in any case.

All things considered, Bakura rarely chose women. They often traveled with multiple people and those who didn't were often the target of others for various activities. Though there was no trouble dealing with two people at once, if the two individuals didn't know each other Bakura would have to challenge them separately. Ryou's body wasn't strong enough to subdue most people alone, and even with Bakura's added strength relying on Penalty Games to get what he wanted was the simplest way.

So it would be a man, someone who looked lonely, desperate. In an ideal case, a man being kicked out of a bar. No one would check up on him and when he lost to Bakura, body slumped against him, not a single person in the district would think it anything besides drunkenness.

Bakura picked his target, starting after him, but when Ryou tried to concentrate on their outline, to see what they looked like, Bakura intentionally looked away and guarded his thoughts. He violently pushed past everyone in the club in his pursuit, and Ryou could hear the swears and gasps and shouts in his wake. He was like an animal, limbs reaching forward to part the masses and the mental guard was dropped as soon as it had been thrown up.

How long had it been since Bakura had captured a soul? Ryou was disgusted at the idea of how he looked - how his body must have looked. Bakura was practically salivating over this prey.

And when they exited the noisy club, Ryou knew why: It was one of the Pharaoh's _friends_.

Even bathed in the streetlights outside, the stumbling form looked _beautiful_. Tall and lithe, even his swaying was graceful, long, dark hair following after every movement. The man hugged himself as he was exposed to the outside chill and tried to keep himself from tipping over. Delicious.

_No. No, no, no, no,_ Ryou thought. What was Otogi doing here, by himself?

He knew, and Bakura knew, that there was zero chance of the Pharaoh or Yuugi being there. There would be no escape.

A few moments passed before Bakura followed. Then all Ryou saw was darkness.

* * *

When he woke up this time, Ryou knew he had control of his body because he was bleeding. The liquid was flowing from a gash on his head, but until he adjusted to having control he wouldn't be able to feel which side. Gravel pressed against his right cheek, and the left one was swollen.

The first wave of feeling was unquenchable _anger_ - the last bit of Bakura. Ryou made use of it and pushed himself to his feet. His head pounded; he knew where the gash was. In all honesty, he would have preferred the darkness. There was no pain, no wooziness there.

"_Shit_ - Bakura, are you alright?"

Once he stopped swaying and looked straight on, Ryou realized he was standing in front of Otogi Ryuuji.

"What - what happened?" Ryou eyes were tearing up, adjusting to his surroundings. He frowned, wiping at his eyes roughly with his arms. That only made them sting worse; his arms were covered in dirt and grime.

_What have you been doing to my body?_

"Thank _god_," Otogi sighed. His words were slurred just a bit. "I - I thought you were the still the Other Bakura at first, but… but he doesn't look like that. I mean," he cut himself off, "he doesn't act like that."

"I know what you mean." Ryou was still trying to piece everything together. Why did Bakura retreat. What had happened?

But there were other things that required attention first. He padded himself down to see what belongings he carried. Wallet, Keys. Deck. Dice. That was everything essential. The Ring felt heavy like a noose upon his neck.

Returning his attention to Otogi, he found those green eyes staring at him, quietly observing the short checklist-ritual. Even through the haze of alcohol, Ryou could see his apprehension. Shoulders squared back and away, back rigid… he was scared.

"I'm not _that_ Bakura, I promise," Ryou assured him. "I-I-I don't know why I'm here, but I can tell you I'm not him."

_More importantly, why are _you _here?_

"I don't know what happened," he added. When he tried again to remember, his temples throbbed and he fell to his knees. Bakura didn't want him to know.

"Come on," Otogi told him, "I called a cab."

Ryou was reluctant to follow Otogi out of the alley and into the street for several reasons. A part of him wondered if Bakura was trying to use him in some way, to get close to Otogi and then take his soul? But that didn't make any sense; the two of them had been close enough for a Penalty Game when he'd woken up with his face pushed into the dirt. Aside from the gash he was uninjured, so there hadn't been a fist fight.

Had the Pharaoh interfered, somehow? If his Puzzle's magic could blanket his friends across distances, it would explain Otogi's idiocy. But his friends had fallen victim to Bakura's meddlings before, and too little time had passed for a proper duel.

Not knowing was killing him, but Bakura as well as Otogi offered nothing.

It was not long before the cab arrived, and Otogi insisted that he climb inside first. Apprehension, again. If his first attempt at reassurance hadn't helped, nothing was going to. Ryou couldn't blame him, though. After all, Bakura had intentioned to steal his soul while he was intoxicated, and it was easy to see how a person would be cranky after that.

Ryou spent the drive lost in thought. In the end, there seemed to be no other alternative other than Otogi _defeating_ Bakura in a Penalty Game, but that was _impossible_.

"_Fuuuuuck._ God dammit," Otogi shouted. He was scrambling through his pockets. At first, Ryou had thought him out of yen for the trip, but soon enough he'd found a few thousand yen and tossed them at the driver. "Get out," he ordered Ryou tersely.

The first thing Ryou noticed was that he was not at all in a neighborhood that he recognized. He hadn't thought anything through at all. Why climb into a cab if it wouldn't take him to his home?

As Otogi fumed, he seemed to have realized the same thing.

"Before you leave," Ryou said, wincing, "would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of the nearest hospital?"

Otogi snapped at him. "Would you just _shut up_?" Then he pulled out his phone and began dialing.

Ryou, again, took his time to glance at his surroundings. It was a nice neighborhood, the sort where the homes were very Western in design and shape. Most of them looked identical, two floor structures with dark, black roofs shaped in a triangular motif. They all had neatly manicured lawns and an adjacent garage. The hot red convertible made it easy to spot Otogi's. There were street lights near every other house, and neat, round mailboxes lined each property spaced evenly apart. All in all, not the sort of place that Ryou would have expected Otogi to live in. Very surprising.

Whomever Otogi was speaking on the phone with, it did not seem to be going well. "Right, so I'm just supposed to-" He paused, a few seconds of silence passed. "Well, you better be soon."

Though most would have found it insulting, Ryou knew very well that everyone had a reason to stigmatize him. He was odd enough for Bakura to be able to use him, after all. That put a wall between them, because he possessed something that they didn't and it had led to nothing but pain and strife for all those around.

There had been a point where Ryou had begun to believe that everything was his fault. But particularly during the Battle City Tournament, watching Bakura rant and rave at the Pharaoh, it had suddenly occurred to him - this _was_ all pre-destined. No matter how hard he fought, he would only succeed at trumping Bakura when he was _meant_ to.

It didn't stop him from trying in every circumstance, but it took the edge away from the fault of it all.

"I'm sorry," Ryou told both himself, and Otogi. "If I could stop him, I w-would." The harder he thought, the more his head hurt. He needed to move on. "If I could j-just use a first aid kit, I promise I'll be on my way. I won't start any trouble."

He didn't worry about getting home. It wouldn't be the first time he'd slept on the street. The pain in his head needed addressing, though. Ryou wasn't fond of infected scrapes and bruises.

Otogi sighed, shoulders slumped. "No. You're coming in." He stomped his way towards his townhome, taking great hulking steps that let Ryou know that this was not his preferred course of action. Whatever alcohol was in Otogi made it difficult for him to mask his contempt. Gripping Ryou tightly by the arm, Otogi pulled the both of them up to the door - he fiddled around searching for his keys for more than a few moments - and then inside.

The home was just was western inside as it was outside; the first thing Ryou thought was that it was very large. There was a lot of wasted space where nothing sat at all. It was a sight that pulled at his heartstrings; his father had been fond of western style homes, and the inside of the Bakura household held similar decorations. Otogi's home had small pops of color within, the oak-colored bannister lining the stairs, the mint-colored walls. None of the furniture seemed to match or be part of a particular set.

"Come on. You're staying here for the night. Yuugi's on his way over, so don't try anything."

Ryou pulled away from Otogi's touch. Just because he expected to be treated a certain way didn't mean that he welcomed it. "I didn't plan any of that! That wasn't my fault, Bakura-" and then he fell silent, because he knew there was no point in arguing. He would never be able to prove his existence. "Just help me clean my cut and I'll go home."

When Otogi whirled around, his eyes had widened in anger, but Ryou did nothing but stand that, defenseless. Pale hands ran themselves through dark hair, and he sighed.

"He said you wouldn't know where you were. What's the name of the club we were at?" Those green eyes were hard and discerning. But Ryou didn't know what he was looking for. Maliciousness? Malintent?

It wouldn't do any good to disclose the details of his relationship with Bakura. Knowing that he was forced to watch would only make Otogi feel terrible. Ryou didn't like it when people were angry at him for things that Bakura did, but it was easy enough to understand why they would be. "I don't know. I just woke up with my face pressed into the dirt. And this cut," he insisted, "which needs to be cleaned. I don't need _Yuugi_ to watch over me." And he didn't.

But he wished someone would.

Otogi studied his face a little while longer before turning to walk away. "Wait here."

Returning with a small, white kit holding a red-cross across the front, Otogi headed towards what Ryou considered the den; the room was still spacious, but held a fair amount of sitting furniture and a TV attached to several gaming systems. A large, low-rise coffee table stood in the middle of the room. Otogi pulled out a chair for him.

They cleaned Ryou's cut in relative silence. The operative word being _they_ because, upon opening the first aid kit, Otogi seemed to be at a loss of how to use it properly. At the same time, Ryou wasn't in front of a mirror and had to instruct Otogi. The man's sloppy movements and little motor control didn't help the process, and Ryou hissed in pain from mishandling quite a few times. When it was all said and done, however, Ryou was satisfied and his cut was bandaged in acceptable fashion.

Otogi seemed calmer after the ordeal, so Ryou probed. "...I thought he would have gotten you."

He didn't receive a reply. Otogi merely packed up the kit and turned to place it back where it belonged.

Ryou tried again. "I was scared for you. I'm sorry for whatever he did."

Whipping around, Otogi's brows knit; it was a painful expression for someone like him to wear, and Ryou felt sorry for making him feel so conflicted. "You really don't know, do you? The threats, the Penalty Game - you don't remember any of it, do you?"

Shaking his head, Ryou wondered if anyone other than Yuugi would ever come to terms with his experience. "I wasn't there. I couldn't have known."

"So you didn't know what he was planning?" Otogi's mouth hung open, as if in surprise.

"_No_." Ryou resolved that he wouldn't be answering this question again. "I'm locked away when he's in control. I don't see anything unless he _wants_ me to see."

Otogi sighed. "That's what Yuugi said you'd say."

_Of course, _Ryou thought bitterly. _Because if Yuugi said it, it must be true._ Yuugi was the only person who had shared something inside of him. Same way, different item, different spirit. And yes, Otogi was right; Yuugi was the only one who would understand because of it. Sometimes, however, it was frustrating to have himself discredited simply because he wasn't _the hero_.

Ryou had seen the Pharaoh for himself, had even spoken to him briefly during one of the Penalty Games at Duelist Kingdom. If Bakura radiated darkness, then by comparison Yami did light - in his own way. Yuugi was his vessel, and he deserved to be. Being in the shadow of a hero made you one by association, but it was frustrating when his friends couldn't be bothered to look _just a little harder_ to see what was hidden in Bakura's shadow. They'd gone to school together, after all.

He was a hero, too - just a different kind.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again. Internally, he cursed himself, because he had already decided not to repeat himself. "The two of us are different. His hair is different; his voice is different. Even his eyes. You've seen the Pharaoh - doesn't he look different from Yuugi? Can't you tell which one is which?"

Otogi's face flushed, and he looked away.

_He can't,_ Ryou realized, and he felt foolish. No wonder the man had been so defensive.

"For one, I'm not threatening to kill you. If I begin to do that, it's probably not a good sign."

He disappeared again without another word and Ryou stayed put. This time when he returned, Otogi was holding clothes - a hoodie and some slacks. "I don't wear these often, and you look terrible. You should take a bath."

Ryou was tempted to point out that alcohol wasn't exactly the greatest personal accessory either, but reconsidered. This hospitality was limited. All the same, he refused. "I'll gladly take the clothes, but I won't sully your shower. I'll just go home in the morning." If Bakura let him. Saying that would just make the atmosphere uncomfortable, however, so Ryou remained silent after.

Green eyes looked him up and down again, but Otogi handed him the clothes without a word. The two of them were nearly the same height, and Otogi didn't look too much thinner. The other disappeared again when Ryou decided to redress, and he found that they were indeed a good match. Hoodies weren't his style, but anything warm and not smeared with dirt or mud would do.

Otogi seemed to returned just when Ryou finished, beckoning forward. "Yuugi's still on his way."

Ryou didn't respond to that news. Having a babysitter wasn't something that he looked forward to.

The two of them traveled to the upper level of the house. The lights were out, and Otogi used his phone's screen as a flashlight rather than flip any switches. Still drunk, apparently. Light wouldn't help. "Can you control when Bakura gets to ...come out, so to speak?" Ryou scoffed at the question, and Otogi hastily swapped topics. "How's your head feeling?"

"Terrible," Ryou said, even though he knew that his honesty would be off putting.

"I'm sorry."

"It isn't your fault." It wasn't _his_ fault, either.

The hallway was longer than Ryou would have expected, and when Otogi led them both to a door on the right, he found himself in what could only be his host's room. It was messy. He could make out a desk on the left near the door, covered in letters and papers, dice and binders full of what could only be presumed to be Duel Monsters cards; and a bed in the back near a window, covered in clothes, a few sheets of paper and some blankets. This room was instead painted some sort of dark color, and those two areas had been difficult for even Ryou to make out.

"I gotta sleep," Otogi said. "I don't normally have to fend for my life when I go out to party. I'm exhausted."

"What about Yuugi and the others?" Not that he particularly cared, but he knew that Otogi wouldn't want to be left alone with him. Considering that he'd done Ryou such a wonderful favor, the least that could be done in return was have his concerns taken to heart.

"Door's open. He can just let himself in. 'Sides, you said you weren't going to attack me if you could help it, so… I'm falling asleep either way - might as well die in my bed if it comes to that." He chuckled.

Ryou didn't. Death wasn't a joke and it was never funny, especially when it came to Bakura.

Faced with the idea of his current guardian losing consciousness, he probed a bit more. "...how did you defeat Bakura?"

Otogi stumbled into the room but seemed to navigate it with ease. Removing his shoes to follow behind him (if his clothes were muddy and grimy he wouldn't imagine what his shoe soles looked like), Ryou found himself stepping on clothes. Mounds of them covered the floor, nearly every inch.

"Careful around the bookshelf-"

The advice had come too late. Tripping over the corner of something large and dark (as everything else in this room appeared to be), this time a sharp pain shot through Ryou's foot, and he swore.

"-it's black."

_Who purchases a _black_bookshelf?_ Ryou held that thought back - he would probably get his own if he could. _Note to self: black bookshelves are not a good idea._

Once Ryou heard the sound of Otogi falling over with a muted thump, he inquired further as to Otogi's plan. "Can I just sleep on the floor? Perhaps push a few piles of clothes out of the way? That would be good enough."

The voice that answered him already sounded sleepy. "Yeah, sure. Do whatever… you want…"

Ryou wasn't ready to let Otogi go to sleep just yet. "...are you going to tell me how you defeated Bakura at all?"

"Why, so you can tell him? It won't help." The frustration in his voice made it crisp and clear, and for a moment, Otogi was wide awake.

Biting back a sharp response, Ryou tried to appeal to his sense of virtue. "It's comforting to know that you have a way to protect yourself from him. Because I can't." Diligently, Ryou pulled a few clothes around him on the ground and laid down atop them. It was bumpy and slightly uncomfortable, but the hard floor would have been much worse.

He could hear tossing, and then Otogi said. "I challenged him. Then I punched him in the face after I won."

Having his mouth hinged open in surprised was not something he did often, and he closed it quickly. It was both uncomfortable, and unsavory to do so while sleeping atop someone else's clothes. The smelled clean, but he would never know. "H-How?" What game could there possibly be that Bakura could lose at?

Otogi sounded annoyed as he continued. "I challenged him. Whoever rolled highest on a die, they won. Twenty-sider. He got a seventeen. I got a nineteen. Then I punched him in his fucking face." Sure, Otogi was slurring, but Ryou couldn't have possibly misinterpreted what had been said.

"You? Beat _Bakura_ rolling dice?"

"I can beat whoever I want rolling dice. Dice are what I do. Did you not see the earring?"

Ryou grasped for words, unsure of how to respond. Luckily for him, Otogi's liquor intake did the encouraging for him.

"I've practiced for years. If I know the shape of the table and the die I can get whatever number I want. It's because… well, because my dad's a dick. Years of practice…"

For several minutes, Ryou strained to hear more, but when the silence continued he realized that Otogi was asleep. "Otogi…?"

Another sigh, and then he was left alone in the darkness once more. Ryou used the time to try to review that information in his head. How had the confrontation transpired after Otogi had been cornered? No matter how he grasped for it mentally, however, it wouldn't come. It wasn't his memory to recall, and if Bakura had been defeated there was no way it would be willingly shown to him.

He was afraid to sleep, and for all his bitter sadness, he hoped to still be awake when Yuugi arrived. Sometimes, Bakura did take him over while he was at rest. And he wouldn't have minded closing his eyes, just for a short while. His body was tired, even if his mind wasn't. He was battered and beaten and whatever punch Otogi had landed had done a number on him, even if the pain from the gash trumped it.

An hour passed, and Otogi tossed in his sleep, mumbling and fitful. Ryou remembered the night when he'd slept similarly; those were the nights Bakura had tried his best to break him. They were painful, and he had suffered greatly.

Feeling his way to Otogi's voice, to the bed covered in more clothes, Ryou's body had seemed to make the decision before he had mentally come to terms with it. Dragging himself onto the bed, mumbling pardons for putting his messy, defiled body on the belongings of someone who had helped clean him up, he laid next to Otogi. Leaving just enough space so that they wouldn't touch when he turned (and realizing just how large a space the bed actually was), Ryou very calmly stroked Otogi's head. The black hair was silky, the brow beneath dowsed in sweat and giving off heat.

Ryou was always cold when he slept. He had always been known to shiver.

He had often imagined tucking in Amane in the same way, allaying her fears about nightmares and monsters. But Otogi was real, solid, and when Ryou spoke with him he was not speaking with himself. They were both here. This was happening. It had happened.

Otogi curled into himself, brows knitting, and Ryou shushed him tenderly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Pale lips parted, forming the words, "I _hate _you."

Ryou stiffened, teeth clenched, ready for some sort of retaliation. What if he wasn't really sleeping?

Rolling over again, Otogi hissed, "Dad… I…" and held himself more tightly.

Before he knew it Ryou was letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. The first question to ask was about what Otogi's father had done. Ryou didn't know very much about Otogi to begin with - only that he had wanted to avenge the delayed launch of his game. Yuugi and the Pharaoh had defeated him, and they were friends… nothing about Otogi's father came to mind at all. He knew just as little about Otogi as Otogi has about him.

"It's okay," he whispered. It was the only thing he could have done to be of use. "It's going to be okay."

This time when he saw darkness, it was when he slipped into slumber.

{FIN}

* * *

Things of note: I tried to accurately portray the merging of Ryou and Bakura's perception in some places, as well as Otogi's conflicted stance on Ryou and whether or not he was a threat.

I'm afraid I wasn't able to go into Otogi's background with his father as much as I wanted to with the time limit and all, so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask!

That aside, I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading.


End file.
